


When Trust Falls Are Not Optional

by Kabochan



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Depression, Fake Science, Loss, M/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabochan/pseuds/Kabochan
Summary: When Peter sees himself alone in New York, he decides he had enough.It's only after he moves to a quiet place in Canada and completely changes his life that the zombie apocalypse shit hits the fan.But that's ok.With all the news on tv and deduction skills, he was expecting something like this to happen (maybe not exactly the zombie part of the apocalypse), but he's prepared, he's too much of a nerd to not have thought of survival strategies before.He just didn't count on a weird stalker - repeatedly - trying to break in his house.ORThe zombie apocalypse AU nobody asked for, but my brain made me write all the same.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter doesn’t know if he should be completely horrified or scream “I knew it!” at the tv.

He watches with a stunned expression a random jornalist almost screaming to the camera the events that unfold on some place at China.

Desperation and chaos reigned, anyone would think they were watching your typical zombie movie, but the palpable sense of violence and despair of the people running around was so real that the conversation around the diner slowly died down until a chilling silence was all Peter could hear.

He didn’t need to look to know that every single person was staring at the tv as shocked as he was.

Except he wasn’t really that stunned.

Almost one year ago, Peter had started to see an increasing amount of cases of a brand new, highly infectious disease flashing on the news.

Back then he was still at the Bugle and the scientist in him always perked up at news like that. He didn’t really give it much thought though. Sure, it was a serious disease, but it wasn’t really killing people, just being an incredibly gut wrenching one. The symptoms brought a healthy person to the hospital as soon as H1N1 did a few years ago.

But then time passed and although sometimes it disappeared completely from the news, the disease resurged from times to times.

Peter had quickly realized this thing was getting out of control when it started to mutate at an increasingly pace, just as the common flu, it was being spread in waves, changing as it spread. Except these waves didn’t take a state or even a country, they were going all _over the world_.

People had different symptoms, but after careful examination, doctors started to realize it was the same virus, except it had become better, stronger, more resistant to medicine, wave after wave.

Another flashing bright red sign were the reports from the main medical institutions and big names on the field. Nobody was cracking the code - not for lack of trying – and they were working their asses off to come up with a vaccine.

But months passed by and the same recommendations kept up: “avoid crowded places”, “keep your hands clean” and “don’t panic”.

Now they reached the point where the thing has mutated and transformed so much that caused people to lose their minds. Literally.

The journalist on field had long disappeared now and on her place were lots of specialists sitting around a table, peacefully looking professional and composed. Anchors were discussing how the virus affected the brain and that’s exactly why you should stay inside and yadda yadda yadda.

Peter wasn’t listening anymore. He took his stuff and left the small diner.

He was greeted by blind white snow and a chilling wind.

Almost nobody could be seen on the streets and Peter felt a strange sense of relief and guilt as he took in the sight of another day in Canada.

 

What seemed like a lifetime ago, Peter Parker decided he had enough.

Sure, he was born and raised in New York, he had learned everything he knew without ever moving out of the place.

But there it was where he lived all his most traumatic and harrowing experiences.

He’d seen the dirty, dark side of the city, he’d been stepped on and ignored, broken and bullied. But even after those events, he was _fine_. He could live with all that his entire life and if somebody asked if he liked New York, he’d still admit (after complaining about as much as the usual new yorker did) that he loved there, it was the center of the world, where everything happened, a crazy place where crazy things were possible. He wouldn’t exchange that for anything in this world.

Except that he lost people there too.

He couldn’t bear losing the most important people of his life. He saw them in every corner, in every place he had to walk through, sometimes even in the expression of somebody else in the subway.

Peter Parker was tired of being beaten up by his own life. He didn’t want to live anywhere else, but he also couldn’t _stand_ living there anymore.

So one day he quit everything and just left.

Around the time the disease was starting to become a real problem and Peter couldn’t care less.

He just wanted to do something entirely different from what regular-Peter would do.

If old Peter was used to nothing but concrete and cars, new Peter looked for nature and trees.

Old Peter liked being blended into a faceless crowd, new Peter wanted to see how it would feel to live in a small town, where there wasn’t any traffic, smoke or people running somewhere all the time, a place where you could recognize people’s face on the street every time you went to the grocery store.

Old Peter couldn’t sleep without the sound of something going on around him, be it noisy neighbors, the background noise of cars or people being people on the streets, but new Peter craved peace and utter silence, a place where you could live and sometimes just _forget_ people existed outside your house.

Old Peter wanted to just _do something_ and avoid his problems.

New Peter was facing everything head on, sometimes he even felt like a bull charging straight into problems and the things that were frustrating him so much.

That’s precisely how he ended up in a small city somewhere in Canada, working home office as a consultant in a small company, having only himself and his own head as company.

It was hell, sometimes he couldn’t stand his own company.

He loved it.

He worked from home, only had to go over his job a few days a _month_ , the pay wasn’t awesome compared to New York’s average payments, but life on countryside of Canada also didn’t require that much money (compared to New York at least), so he always had more than enough at the end of the month.

His life was peaceful, different, so much free time lead to lots of enlightened moments and incidentally to inadvertently predict an apocalypse.

This time it was his journalistic side that kept his attention on the news, always wanting to dig for stuff and questioning the rule, he could practically smell something was wrong through the screen of his tv every time he saw an authority claiming “the situation is contained and controlled”, when absolutely no concrete solutions had been given to the public.

A part of him laughed and said stocking food, water and moving to a better equipped shelter was him being paranoid and becoming more of a lunatic hermit than ever.

That didn’t stop the other, bigger part of him to just go and do all of those things.

He told himself he was just doing it to entertain himself and his pos apocalyptic fantasies for his own sanity though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting for a while on my computer, I've just recently started posting my stuff, so I thought: eh, why not?  
> My mind is currently obsessed with Sterek, but spideypool has always been a thing for me, I won't promise constant updates, but I'm not planning on abandon this either.  
> Hope you like it :)


	2. Chapter 2

The first time they meet Peter was a little bit terrified, but mostly prepared.

It’s the 9th person who tried to break in. Well, actually they didn’t even pass his backyard, but it still felt just as terrifying as.

A quick glance around a couple minutes later from the balcony of the second floor, Peter knows the guy is alone – _thank fuck for that_ – and rushes downstairs to deal with his intruder.

The man was trapped under his tree, he was squirming and grunting in an impressive effort to lift the massive branch.

\- Sup? – Peter asked casually, but as soon as the stranger lifted his gaze, Peter made sure to have his shotgun aimed right at his face.

After a brief second, in which the guy had briefly glanced at his face then back at the gun, Peter broke the silence again.

\- So, do you always break in people’s house or is it just a hobbie? – although he tried, Peter couldn’t keep his tone light throughout the sentence.

He really doesn’t want to do this. But he will, if the situation calls for it. But really _really_ wishes it didn’t. In fact, he felt shudders running down his spine just by holding the gun.

The stranger risks a glance to his face again and Peter can’t read his expression, the guy is absolutely covered, he’s completely wrapped in winter clothes, even his face is 98% covered by a scarf, only piercing blue eyes are visible.

Peter could only tell it was a man because of the unmistakable yelp he heard moments before one of his traps were set in motion.

The guy says something. Well, he _tries_ to say something, he’s got so much shit covering him that’s impossible to understand anything but muffled sounds.

Peter sighs and assures the guys arms are also trapped beneath the tree before leaning in and uncovering his face... Which was still covered by a mask, only a much lighter one.

\- I said, only when fucking zombies are roaming around and all the supplies left are tampons and piles and piles of candy corn.

Peter lifts an eyebrow at that. If he wasn’t in a fight or flight mode he’d definitely chuckle at that.

\- Are you saying there’s nothing left from the city?

\- If you call that a city, yes, I’ve just come from there, not a single shit worth the trip, only garbage and a lot of fuckers around – but then the guy smiled brightly (or Peter supposed he smiled, it was hard to tell because of the mask) and said – well, maybe not that many around now.

Peter cursed under his breath.

He was hoping the city still had enough for maybe another month. Sure, he knew he’d have to move soon, but he didn’t expect _that_ soon.

\- Anyways, this little thingie was very clever of you, what do you want to do now? – he asked casually, as if he wasn’t the one pinned down by a tree and being held at gunpoint by a complete stranger.

Peter paused for a bit.

\- Well, what do _you_ plan to do if I let you go?

\- Ooh, you don’t wanna spare anyone in an apocalypse baby boy, rule number 1: you’re never safe around people, dead or alive, especially around the alive ones.

Peter frowned.

\- Do you really wanna call the guy pointing a shotgun to your face “baby boy”?

\- Well, my eyes see pretty doe eyes, cute face and your flawless tushie calling me from here, and that for me, is a baby boy if I ever seen one.

Was.. Was this guy _hitting on him_?

Peter lowered his gun, feeling very confused and very embarrassed at the same time.

\- Y-you didn’t even see me from behind – was all he could blurt out when all of a sudden a movement caught his attention at the corner of his eye.

Before he could turn around, the guy pulled a knife out of nowhere and threw it at an infected, hitting it perfectly between its eyebrows.

What the fuck.

Peter raised his shotgun again, panic hitting him fully.

When the heck had the guy pulled free?

The man in question just sighed and kept both his hands raised.

\- C’mon baby boy, don’t be like that, I just saved your perfect ass, didn’t I?

Peter didn’t lower his gun, but carefully started to put some distance between them.

If the man was able to kill stuff simply by throwing knives, it wasn’t a good idea to stay that close.

\- Uuugh, that’s why I said we should have brought something! Nobody trusts nobody now!

Was he... Talking to himself?

\- And how would I fucking know the city had been completely ransacked?

Yep, definitely talking to himself.

\- _I know_! But it was either patrolling around his house or watching the road, and who the hell would choose and empty sad road over a place that had _him_ – he wildly gestured over Peter’s direction – in it?!

Peter’s back was almost touching the door of his house when he stopped dead on his tracks.

\- Did you just- What do you mean patrolling around _my house_?

Ok, he sounded way more squeaky and alarmed than he felt comfortable with.

Wasn’t the apocalypse supposed to turn you into a badass survivor?

The man cursed loudly when he realized Peter was not only still present – even if much more distant than before – but had heard everything he’d just said.

After the silence stretched for a long moment, the guy just extended a hand.

\- Ok, we started this wrong, let me restart, Hi! My name’s Wade, I’m your neighbor from the other side of the river, you always failed to see me in the market before the fucking zombie apocalypse shit hit the fan. Nice to meet you!

And he smiled. Very brightly by the way his freaking mask was stretching. Only his eyes were visible through it. And those were hopeful big, sparkling eyes.

Which were the very cause of Peter’s ruin, because he actually remembered about this guy.

Other neighbors had talked about him, they always complained _Wade_ this, _Wade_ that, but the complaints were always accompanied by a warm smile and Peter always felt Wade was the harmless lunatic every neighborhood had and somehow appreciated. The quirky guy who gave color to the boring white wastelands.

He lowered his gun again, hesitating.

\- Still doesn’t explain why you were patrolling around my house.

The guy – Wade – dropped his hand and sighed a second time.

\- You got me, I have no excuse for that beside my crushing on your out of the world charms.

Then he fucking _got up_ , casually dusting his clothes.

Peter raised his gun again, feeling like he was a mouse being played with by a sarcastic, bitter lab researcher.

\- Dude! You gotta stop doing that!

\- Hey! It’s not my fault, it’s too fucking cold to be laying on the ground like that! Actually, that’s not your fault either – the man added, apparently even his own words distracted himself.

\- How would you know how cold it is? You’re an onion of clothes, how the hell can you move so fast like that?

Ok, Peter wasn’t exactly the best at keeping the focus on conversations either, but he was nervous ok?! Every time he got nervous he tended to run his mouth. Keeping his distance from every human being for the last months also didn’t help his case of social anxiety.

\- Trained and served at the special forces, baby boy, _that_ keeps you fast on your feet, heavy clothes or not.

Peter didn’t know what to think of the fact that the trespasser, that was actually a stalker, was actually a military man who was currently hitting on him. Confusion, wariness and fear were battling in his head for “run”, “lock himself in the house” and “shoot him”.

But all that was shut down when he heard the distinct sound of a gunshot and the sudden pain on his left calf.

He shouted, feeling his leg spasm in pain and gripped his gun higher, quickly backing down and inside his house.

His first thought was the crazy onion man, but when he looked at him, the man had his gaze set somewhere else. His body was tense and still, his eyes quickly danced through the trees and his right hand was immediately on the hidden holster of a gun Peter hadn’t seen before.

The last glimpse he caught of the guy, he had a firm stare over somewhere on the woods at the left, and Peter thought freaking wolves locked on their prey looked more docile than that.

He slammed his door closed feeling only a little pan of guilt over the fact he left the guy out there with who knows who. But at that point, he was more concerned over the fact not only one, but two people were now aware of his presence in the woods, worst: both armed and one of them had taken a liking to his ass.

It took almost five years, but apparently Parker luck had come back full force.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter was limping around his house, reinforcing his barricades on the weakest points of his mini fortress, when yet another trap was set off.

He wasn’t going to check on it until some moments later, he wasn’t _that_ keen on risking a glance at his window, but he heard a second trap disarming and a familiar yelp.

He couldn’t believe it.

It had been almost three weeks since the encounter with his not-so-secret admirer, which was a very kind way to refer to his stalker. That day he heard a couple gunshots in the distance – but way closer to his liking – and then silence. He hadn’t heard about the guy since then.

The trap being set off and the scream were actually source of relief to Peter, he was sure the guy had died that day.

It took him longer than usual, but eventually he made it upstairs, looked around his backyard and there it was, the onion man wrapped in red and black from head to toe, now half buried in snow, like a stupid cartoon.

Peter surveyed the trees and limits of the forest, double checking more carefully this time for other people or other _things_ lurking outside.

He didn’t find anybody, but that never meant it was safe to be out. Still, he was too curious to just leave his intruder to his own devices.

Stay inside and leave the man to possibly freeze to death and never know why in the heck he came back and how he was even alive, or go outside, be shot and bleed to death while also freezing to death or _worse_ , be caught by someone or _something._

After an internal discussion, he made up his mind.

He went downstairs, grabbed a table he reinforced just for this purpose, put the barricade down in front of his door and opened the thing.

 _Of course_ he wouldn’t go outside or near his stalker. Why would he do that? He’d learned his lesson after last time.

But at the same time, he wanted to know why the fuck the guy had just walked inside _again_. What did he _want_?

Peter decided that if he didn’t like the answer, he’d have to leave the guy trapped outside. But he’d have to at least talk to the man. He just couldn’t let the crazy stalker die out there in the cold.

Well, he could, but Peter couldn’t forgive himself if he could’ve avoided more blood when all it took was a single conversation.

That’s why he opened the door, but didn’t go out, put his barricade down for protection and shouted to the man trapped outside.

\- Hey neighbor, I’m afraid I don’t have any sugar left, what can I do for you in this lovely freezing to death day?

Onion crazy stalker guy perked up when he heard Peter’s voice and twisted himself, trying to turn his body and look at him.

\- Baby boy! You’re alright! Thank the apocalyptic cruel divination laughing at us!

\- Yeah, no thanks to you! Did you bring any friends today too?

If Peter squinted through the woods, he could see the way the trapped man was frowning at him, even through the layers and layers of fabric.

\- I swear they weren’t my guests! I’d never bring anyone over, you know me!

Peter huffed.

\- Yeah, right, we’re tottes bffs, it’s not like I just met you during a zombie apocalypse, while you were trying to break in my house and stalking me for who knows how long.

\- Aww c’mon, what does a guy have to do to earn the trust of another guy when all hell is breaking loose around the world?

\- I don’t know? Not stalk the other guy? Not try to break in his house? Twice? Or talk about their ass in literally the first words they ever exchange?

\- You lost me baby boy, too much rules and my mind is already saying “nope” and going off to la la land.

\- Look man, if you want my trust, just leave me alone ok? And try not to die in my backyard?

Peter said that, shut the door again, and somehow hoped the guy would just get up and leave like the other time.

Peter didn’t bother keeping a watch on him, after all, he was already organizing all his essentials and retreated to the hidden part of the house, the part that allowed him to survive this long without resorting to violence that often and avoid people looking for loot in his house.

The part that was perfectly sealed, warm, stocked and connected to the small tunnels that formed the ancient plumbing system of the city.

And when he closed the hidden trap door underneath his fridge, he completely missed how his intruder escaped his trap perfectly and left his property without as much as a glance behind.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been two weeks since Peter had retreated to his bunker. His leg was almost 100% now. He supposed it was luck that it had only scrapped and not really pierced inside. He also thought it was bad luck enough to the fact that the bullet had _almost_ entered his calf, meaning it had taken a big chunk of flesh when it scorched him.

He wasn’t limping anymore and he had time enough to recount his supplies and rearrange everything so he could survive for a bit longer.

He also thought that was time enough to let a certain stalker break in his house, find absolutely no traces of him and completely give up on his existence or go out and try to find him in the next city.

Peter wasn’t dumb, he knew from the start it was impossible to avoid break ins. Of course people would go out looking for food and resources. That’s why he studied all the houses available and found this one, perfectly removed from the city, but close enough to be within a quick trip to gather stuff.

Also, it was conveniently close to the sewer system, which Peter made sure to build a connection to it as soon as shit started to look too serious for his taste outside.

He had never ever worked in construction, but he supposed digging a cave wasn’t _that_ hard right?

It was.

It was _very_ fucking hard.

He almost died buried when he miscalculated the amount of weight the pillars of the structure holding the tunnel together could take. After that, he made sure to never underestimate that kind of stuff anymore and make most use of the internet available to build his freaking escape route.

He was so happy when all communication and energy went off and he had printed all stuff he could ever think would be useful and had successfully managed to power his own house using a bunch of energy green resources, be it solar, hidro (thank God for rivers) and motion - he rigged a bike and a generator, used some crazy wikihow tutorials and voilá (he was building that just for giggles really, when the thing actually worked he felt the irrational need to look for the author of that wikihow tutorial and personally clap for the anonymous good Samaritan).

That being done, every time he felt he was being watched or in danger somehow, he just retreated to his bunker and spent a couple days down there. People would always come in and poke around, scavenge for resources and turn the place upside down.

Peter always made sure to look like he had every intention to defend his house though, it would be too suspicious if he didn’t give a fuck and just resorted to his bunker, not caring if his front door was guarded or not. People weren’t _dumb_ , any keen observer would notice he was hiding something if he was in the house, but didn’t bother protecting it.

So, hence the psychological game, with traps, extra barricades and all the stuff any vanilla survivor would do.

People fell for that all the time and that always made them leave him alone in the end, never bothering to break in again.

Which is why Peter almost jumped out of his skin when he was just covering his secret trap door and heard a voice booming behind him:

\- So _that’s_ where you were all this time!

Peter didn’t even had time to point his gun at the voice, his shotgun was slapped out of his hand in an instant and he could only grit his teeth, close his eyes and expect the worst.

\- Baby boy if you keep your eyes closed, I’ll feel tempted to steal a kiss from your pretty lips y’know?

Peter opened his eyes in shock.

\- Why am I not dead?

The onion man in front on him huffed in exasperation.

\- Of course, because I don’t want you dead. Duh.

\- Thanks, but now that I think about it, the reasons why you want me alive creep me out much more.

Peter could mentally slap himself in the back of his stupid head. Who the hell talks like that to their own stalker? While unarmed? Under their mercy??

His mouth would be the cause of his death, oh god he was sweating so much.

\- Don’t worry baby boy, non con stuff is not my kink. You can rest assured, I won’t touch a single hair of your cute bird nest on the top of your head if you don’t want me to.

And the man held three fingers up in scout’s honor.

Peter still didn’t know if any of that was true. He was waiting for the drop of the other shoe.

\- C’mon, don’t look at me like that! I’m not one of those ridiculous guys who lose their shit as soon as anarchy reigns over. I even kept my promise!

Peter frowned at that.

\- What promise?

\- I left you alone! I just grabbed my stuff and kept my distance, I didn’t even look at your house!

\- That doesn’t make any sense.

Onion man seemed dejected now.

\- What? You don’t believe me?

\- You’re literally in _my house_ right now! How’s that keeping your distance?

\- Oh, that.

\- Yeah, _that_. You’re literally in front of me, _in my house_ and you’ve just taken my gun away!

\- But if I hadn’t done that you’d totally shoot me! And look, I’m not really doing anything! We’re just talking, right?

Peter glared at him. What the fuck was the deal of this guy?

He claimed he didn’t mean no harm, but he entered his house, he said he wasn’t like the others, and yes, he hadn’t behaved like any other trespasser before, but that wasn’t really a good thing.

\- Ok, what are you doing in my house then? – Peter asked very suspiciously and very exasperated.

\- Oh, hum – the guy had the courage to look sheepish _now_ – well, there’s a snow storm brewing outside and I knew you were in here, even if you told me to stay away I kinda got worried and wanted to come and see if you had shelter, I mean, this little thingy you call a house is nice and all, but I don’t think it can hold up to what’s coming? Have you seen those mother nature compilations on youtube? Those can get pretty ugly very fucking fast.

Peter arched an eyebrow at the sudden word vomit happening right there.

Was this guy... Nervous?

He didn’t bat and eye over a shotgun on his face, but started to rant as soon as Peter made a serious question?

What was this? Who was this? How Peter’s life decisions lead him up to this specific moment?

He was so confused.

\- I’m so confused.

The man stopped his verbal diarrhea and looked at him, scratching his neck in an apparent sign of shyness.

\- Well, it’s pretty simple baby boy, snow comes in, I go out, I get here, get trapped another time by one of your devilish traps, you don’t come out even after I start sing shouting, I get bored and actually break in, you aren’t here, I wait for you to come back. Done and done.

Peter blinks at the last piece of information.

\- You _waited_ for me?

The guy in front of him nods, a bit anxiously, by the way his hands keep squirming inside his pockets.

\- Why? For how long? – even inside it’s too cold. Peter is fine in his bunker because he managed to store energy enough to heat up one room just enough so he doesn’t die down there, but up here? Up here in his former house is not worse than being outside only because outside is windy and _snowy_.

The guy must have been freezing all this time, just because he wanted to see if Peter was _all right_?

\- I don’t know, a couple days I guess – he shrugged dismissively.

Peter wanted a chair to sit right now.

He grabbed one and sat, feeling a little bit overwhelmed.

Was this guy for real? Or was this just an elaborated way to earn his trust and completely stab his back later?

He stared at the almost completely covered figure in front of him.

The piercing blue eyes stared back in an inquisitive way.

No, he didn’t seem capable of such a long term plan, besides, he had already seen where Peter’s secret trap door was, he had absolutely no reason to leave him alive and have this conversation.

Damn, the more he thought, more Peter believed the guy was being honest and real.

\- Are you ok baby boy? Is your leg alright?

Peter almost wanted to let out a nervous laugh. But, as soon as he opened his mouth, a flash of lightning followed by a huge crack made both of them flinch.

\- Holy shit! Thundersnow! Ooh I can almost hear all the meteorologists shrieking in ecstasy right now!

\- Thundersnow? – Peter asked, looking outside seeing now it was beyond windy, it looked like hell outside, all white and grey and absolutely chaotic. His windows were actually shaking a bit from the force of the blows.

\- You know, thunder but with snow? It only happens when some real shit is about to go down.

Peter frowned, no, he did not know and he didn’t really want to stick around to see it in person.

Then he realized he couldn’t just go back down and let this man by himself in his sorry excuse of a house in the middle of a snowstorm.

Especially now that he was coming around the idea of this guy not being a totally evil person. Just a very, _very_ , weird one.

Another thunder lit up the darkness making him officially jump in his seat and he was up on his feet.

\- Let’s go.

\- I’d follow your booty to ends of the world, but I don’t think now is a good time to go anywhere baby boy.

Peter rolled his eyes.

\- Don’t make me regret this already.

He pushed the fridge out of the way again and opened the trap door.

\- You’re going down with me.


	5. Chapter 5

\- Holy shit! Is that a bike-generator?

Wade had been gesturing wildly over what he called Peter’s secret batcave. He firstly moaned in delight when he felt heat emanating from the room after they went down the ladder and got to the door of his wannabe bunker. Then the giant walking coat man was shrieking over the amount of food and resources he had managed to save up until now.

Peter regretted a little bit bringing him down already. But he also knew that there was no way he’d have left him upstairs to die frozen in his kitchen.

It was a little bit weird having someone down there with him, this was his safe haven, the last place he trusted to fall asleep and not be 100% sure he would wake up with the sound of a gunshot exploding right on his face or the terrible screech of an infected right by his ear.

Now he wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep that easily with this guy in here. With him. While he was asleep and defenseless.

Shit. He really hadn’t thought this through.

Welp, no going back now. Either they killed each other or survived together. At least until the snow passed. After that... Peter didn’t want to think after that. Perhaps it would be better to focus on surviving the day. For now.

\- Hey, I see you managed to save some stuff from before everybody started shooting everybody, huh?

Wade was pointing to his precious collection of junk food carefully tucked on a higher shelf.

\- Are you kidding me? A world without chocolate is not a worth living in – he huffed, shaking off his coat and hanging it on his usual place.

\- Tell me about it, you wouldn’t happen to have a bit of cheddar and bacon laying around, would you?

Wade’s eyes were all hopeful and Peter snorted at that.

\- Even if there was a way to store cheddar for that long without it going stale, I’d probably have already eaten all of it.

\- Bummer. Can’t say I didn’t try – Wade shrugged and proceeded to keep staring at his stuff. Never really poking, just pointing and talking. Rambling actually.

If Peter didn’t know better, he’d say the guy was nervous.

And nervous in general was never a good thing when trapped inside a bunker with a stranger.

\- Beans or tuna? – he asked after Wade had to pause for a moment to breathe.

That got his attention, a head completely covered in who knows how many layers of beanies whipped in his direction abruptly.

\- Excuse me?

\- For dinner. Canned beans or tuna? – Peter repeated, after gesturing to his stock.

Wade stared at him for a moment. At least Peter assumed the guy was staring at him, it was kind of hard to see closer things without his glasses.

\- No no no, don’t worry about me. I’m not hungry! – the guy said while making dismissive flailing movements.

An unfortunate statement, because his stomach growled right after. Very audibly.

Peter lifted a skeptical eyebrow at that.

Wade cursed and assumed a defeated pose.

\- You traitor – he grumbled pointing at the general of his belly, then he turned to Peter - Look, I don’t really need food. Don’t worry about it, I’m good!

\- Your stomach has just literally proved you wrong.

\- And I’m telling you to ignore it. It’s been a long time since it hasn’t even got a taste over sugar, it’s just reminiscing the old times. Just pretend it’s an old man grumbling.

It in fact grumbled again. Louder.

Despite not liking this situation, Peter refused to be selfish and not share his food with someone who waited for him in his house for days in the cold without anything to eat or drink.

\- I don’t get it, just take the food. Anybody else wouldn’t argue over it – he said while taking two cans and waving them in Wade’s direction.

\- I’m not after your food or your resources – Wade said with a casual shrug.

Peter frowned at that.

\- That’s basically all people are after these days, when you say you don’t want any of these things it actually creeps me out more than if you’ve just accepted it.

Wade reflected on that for a beat, then said brightly:

\- I’ve always had zero sympathy over fish, give me one of those suckers.

Peter huffed and opened the can. Since there was only one place at the table, Peter put it in front of it and let Wade have the chair. He opted for just sitting down on his bed and working on something he was developing for desperate times.

Wade seemed uncomfortable for a moment when he was about to start eating, Peter was about to assure the guy that no, his food wasn’t poisoned, when he saw from the corner of his eyes Wade moving the chair so that he was sitting with his back to the bed, effectively blocking Peter’s view of him.

His shoulders looked tense and Peter realized Wade didn’t want him to watch him eat. Which was a weird thing, Peter stored the information and went back to his device.

He thought food would stop Wade from talking, but apparently having his mouth stuffed wasn’t really an obstacle for the man’s never-ending words, because not even a minute after awkward silence, Wade was talking again.

\- Sooo, what’s your sign baby boy?

Peter’s brows did a weird thing trying to decide to shot up in surprise, frown in embarrassment and scrunch down in confusion. In the end he decided it was safer to just keep his gaze glued to his project.

\- Please, stop calling me that – he said, feeling his ears burn.

Wade huffed in amusement and retorted:

\- Got it, cinnamon bun.

He felt the burn spread down his cheeks and managed out:

\- Using my actual name like a normal, non-creepy, human being would be great, you know?.

\- Well, that’s kinda hard to do when I don’t know your name.

Peter looked up in surprise and realized he in fact had failed to tell him his name last time they met. Aunt May would disapprove his lack of manners.

He immediately tried to change the direction of his thoughts when her amused, but equally disapproving, expression assaulted his mind.

\- I’m Peter, and if you’re referring do the zodiac kind of sign, I’m Cancer, even if I don’t believe any of it.

Wade gasped.

\- How can you _not_ believe it Petey? It’s literally written on the stars!

Peter narrows his eyes at the new nickname, but decides to let it pass, at least it’s a form of his name and not a ridiculous pet name or a nickname for his butt.

\- Right, because how the planets and celestial corpses arrange themselves is totally going to influence my personality – he says ironically, while fumbling with his invention.

\- Well, why not? Theoretically aren’t we all made from the same stuff? Same old space dust that originated everything and all that big bang jazz. What stops a piece of you - that’s kinda the same of a piece of Venus, Mars or Pluto - to somehow resonate or something in the same wave and influence your very being?

Peter stops altogether and stares at the back of Wade’s covered head for a good minute.

\- That’s the wildest, weirdly logic, argument I’ve ever heard from someone trying to convince me horoscope is real, even if your knowledge of science is bit warped.

He thinks Wade is smirking smugly at him by the way he reclines in the chair and puts both hands behind his head, while stretching his onion body.

\- Well, my Scorpio ass is flattered.

Peter smirks and officially spills oil all over his lap, while turning something he wasn’t supposed to.

\- But I suppose it’s not hard to believe it when you have a badass animal to represent you – he says after a while.

Wade starts to recline the chair, balancing himself on two legs.

\- Do I detect jealousy and frustration? Are envious of scorpions? Oh baby boy, is that why you don’t like horoscope? Because you’re a _crab_?

\- Crabs are lame – he mumbles in his own defense.

\- Crabs are delicious – Wade purrs, managing to make a conversation about astrological crabs sound suggestive.

Peter grimaces.

\- Shut up. They can’t even walk straight, and cancer people are always described as the motherly, sensitive, melodramatic, weak types.

\- Well, I’m not the one bitching about the animal representation of a sign I don’t even believe in – Wade says with what probably is shit eating grin, by the way his voice sounds.

Peter scowls indignantly at him, but before he can tell him to fuck off, Wade is talking again:

\- In defense of all the other crabby heads out there, you did take me in and fed me, you also didn’t kick me out or shot me after this whole time, so I should really be thanking some divine entity that I found probably the last compassionate cancer surviving dude out here.

\- Don’t think you can win me over with compliments – Peter answers grumpily to cover the fact he doesn’t take them very well.

\- Wouldn’t think of it, crabs have thick shells after all – Wade replies easily, now swinging slightly on the chair.

Peter feels he had enough of being the focus of this conversation, so he retorts:

\- Aren’t scorpions known for being, you know, _deadly venomous_?

\- Only if you poke it too much – Wade answers promptly, then he turns slightly so he’s facing Peter again – I’d let you gladly poke me though.

Peter isn’t sure, again because of the amount of clothes this guy is still wearing, but he guesses Wade is wiggling his eyebrows by the way the fabric moves around where he thinks his forehead is.

\- Stop deflecting – he says, trying to stop the goddamn blushing to happen again - I don’t see how this weird joke-flirt thing fits with the Scorpio profile.

Wade shrugs, messing distractedly with his empty can.

\- Meh, I’ve got Gemini as rising sign. It makes me mouthy as fuck. Literally can’t shut up sometimes.

\- Rising sign? I don’t even want to know what that is – Peter huffs.

\- Tell me the time and place you were born and I’ll have your entire natal chart nailed down in five minutes, baby boy.

Peter shakes his head.

\- Absolutely not. Internet may be dead now, but you look like you still could do some damage with my personal info.

\- Oooh, c’mooon baby boy, I’m curious to see what’s yours – Wade all but whines – please? Pretty please? Peteeeeeeey...

Peter huffs out.

\- Nope.

\- Aw, c’mon, Petey. What if I tell you mine too? – Wade’s flailing so much on the reclining chair now that Peter’s sure he will fall on his ass in any minute. He has to suppress a giggle when he imagines the man wrapped in fifty coats struggling to get up.

\- What would I even do with that information? No thanks – he says distractedly while trying to make his device slide on his right wrist.

\- Well, what about other information then? You can ask me anything and I’ll tell you!

\- Pretty sure eventually you’re going to spill your whole life to me by your own volition given the rate of words coming out of your mouth.

Wade laughs at that and admits good naturedly:

\- Well, you got me there, baby boy – but he still doesn’t seem to let it go, because he continues, voice bordering professional, as if he’s truly bartering at a store – ask me anything you want then, I give it to you in exchange for your birthdate and time.

Peter looks up from his greasy hands, eyes resting calculating and curious on Wade’s relaxed form still swaying precariously on the chair.

\- You can’t make this kind of deal, I could ask you something impossible, like a trip to Hawaii, the cure for all this madness or _ice-cream_.

\- Fine, then, I’ll give you any of _my_ things and you’ll give me your info – Wade replies stubbornly.

Peter stares at him and deadpans:

\- Wade, you’re literally emptyhanded.

He wasn’t even carrying a backpack or anything like that. Peter knows he’s got weapons hidden on his body, but the guy honestly doesn’t look like he’s got much. He starved for two days on Peter’s house, for god’s sake.

\- I like to travel light – Wade waved a hand dismissively – I have a safehouse too, not as equipped as yours, but enough to stash all my stuff safely. We can go there after the storm and you choose anything you want.

\- Fine – Peter says just to appease the guy. He knows the chances of this all being a lie are high, that Wade doesn’t have anything, maybe not even a house. The guy’s probably just trying to entertain himself by talking and prodding Peter.

Wade fist pumps the air like he wasn’t the one who supposedly just promised to give away one his possessions to a stranger in exchange for something as simple as birthday date, location and time. Peter could even lie and give him random numbers and any city on the us.

He doesn’t though, his conscience is too much sometimes, and even if it still creeps him out a little bit, he tells Wade the date, time and place.

After that, silence reigns for a blissful fifteen minutes. It’s surprisingly not awkward and Peter relaxes as he finishes the last adjustments on his wrist invention for the day. Wade looks super concentrated on his chair, swaying back and forth steadily as his finger draws invisible lines in the air and he mumbles quietly to himself.

Peter only realizes how much he missed talking to another human being when he feels the lack of words weight on the room. Even before the apocalypse he had already been steadily turning into a shut-in. Rarely leaving his home, throwing his mind in work and enjoying solitude. He thought he was doing fine, but by the way he enjoyed bantering with Wade maybe he wasn’t doing exactly great.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Wade spoke up:

\- Ready to know your rising sign Petey-pie?

\- I don’t even know what that means, but sure. It can’t be worse than being depicted as wimpy and emotional manipulative by girlish magazines – he replies, getting up and putting all his tools away and moving to the bike.

\- God, you’re really sour about being a crab, we need to tackle this complex, but later! Now it’s time for me to reveal why you have the foot in the mouth affliction by the way you can’t stop blurting improper stuff at improper times and why you’re this huge nerd with a brain so thirsty for knowledge that sometimes it can’t stop thinking you’ve got all truths figured out in the world, but still seeks the meaning of life, universe and everything else.

What the shit?

Peter’s head whipped so fast he felt his neck snap.

\- How do you know all that? – if his voice sounded slightly alarmed and cracked pathetically at the end, Wade didn’t comment on it.

\- Easy. You, baby boy, has a Sagittarius mix on your Cancer mojo – Wade announced proudly, finger guns and all.

\- Isn’t that the centaur one? – he asks, because that’s about the only thing he knows about it.

\- Yeah, that’s the half horse guy with the archer vibes. See? Very badass Katniss-like. Is that enough to appease your little case of manpain going on?

\- Shut up – despite the words, an amused grin makes its way on his face.

\- Can’t do, Gemini, remember? – Wade says pointing to himself, then continues – it doesn’t surprise me in the least, really, I should’ve been expecting sagittarius by the way you treated me so far. I thought you were just being kind by giving me food and all that, but you’re really just being fair and just. The fact you’ve built all this crazy shit also should’ve hinted, you’re obviously creative with your hellish traps, but not in a malicious way, because I’ve never got seriously injured on them.

Peter narrowed his eyes at him.

\- I’m not sure if you’re either a really observant stalker or bullshitting me right now.

Wade put a hand on his chest and said in mock offence:

\- How dare you! I’m letting you know that I’ve got a very strict moral code when I’m exercising my astrologist skills, ok? No scamming, no bullshitting, so lying. Also, I bet you’re dying to know more, too curious for your own good.

Peter grimaces, but doesn’t deny it to Wade’s smug face. He _is_ mortifyingly curious about it, after all.

And that’s how they spend the rest of the day: Wade rambling all he knows about his astrological chart and Peter making observations on stuff, how some of it is really spot on, how others are so far off that he can’t help but tease Wade over the veracity of horoscope stuff again.

Of course, the onion man takes everything effortlessly, giving Peter a hard time over his Cancer-complex and random Sagittarius facts that sometimes hit too close home to make Peter comfortable.

Like at the present moment, when Wade says:

\- I mean, how can you still say you don’t believe it when it’s such a Sagittarius thing to do: Move to an unknown place in Canada, out in an adventure, but still stablish yourself in a perfect home, like a good old Cancer dude you are, probably running away from your family, retreating to your shell, but like, in a _whole other country._ Because you’re still a dramatic little shit, a fearless, explorer, little shit, but still a dramatic little shit.

Peter’s face scrunches up in surprise and hurt.

Wade keeps talking from his chair, unaware of how he has just slapped Peter verbally. This was perhaps the truest thing he’s ever said about him all day long.

\- Yeah, I believe on this shit now – Peter says, interrupting Wade mid-rant – because you really don’t know when to shut up.

Then he proceeds to grab a book and moodily throw himself on his bed, making clear he’s not up to conversation when he turns on his side, with his back to Wade.

For a while, silence is the only thing he hears. Peter is already feeling stupid and childish by lashing out on Wade seemingly out of nowhere, but keeps his position.

He feels hurt, thinking of his family back in New York and how Wade read him so perfectly, and too embarrassed to look at the man in question for now, knowing he knows he got under his skin.

He falls asleep unintentionally, forgetting completely to be afraid of the fact he’s trapped with a stranger. A stranger who complimented his ass in several occasions and is more than capable to overpower him even when he’s awake, imagine sleeping.

But as he drifts to oblivion, his only concern regarding the Wade, is how he is going to make the whole awkward atmosphere go away and apologize properly to him when he wakes up.

He’s completely unaware of the fact that Wade is still on his chair, except now he’s slumped on it, head propped on the table and arms hanging on his sides, looking like a miserable sack of potatoes, eyeing Peter warily, even if hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this turned out into a conversation over horoscope and all that.  
> For those who don't know, your rising sign (also called ascendant), is like a second sign that influences your personality and the way you come across to other people.  
> I really like this kind of stuff, but no hard feelings if you don't buy it.  
> Also, in this fic Peter may be Cancer and Wade Scorpio, but I really think Peter is a Capricorn with rising in Leo (because he's stubborn, strong willed individual that loves to show off as Spiderman) and Wade is a broken hearted Cancer with rising in Aries (because Deadpool really has had a fucked up childhood and life in general and I feel he copes with stuff by being impulsive, agressive and just giving into his current whims).  
> For this story I wanted to make both of them people who are capable of very strong feelings, but also too reserved or generally suspicious of closeness in general. Hence their ascendants (Sagittarius and Gemini compliment each other and aren't usually depicted as the shy type) to get things going, otherwise Peter would've just said "nope" and closed the door on Wade's face.  
> Anyways, hopefully I'll have another chapter by next weekend, see you then guys ;)


End file.
